Through Armor and Bone
by Brochelle
Summary: This new Spartan was audacious, crude, and smart enough to have made it this far. He would make a valuable asset to her mission - and maybe even Noble Team. Noncanonical. Featuring my pairing EmilexKat. See if you can catch it.


**A.N.: Alright. Here it is. Four days of work amounting to this endless fic featuring my personal favorite pairing, Kat and Emile. If you don't like it, don't flame. Simply take the fight to private messaging.**

**-I love this pairing. I'm sorry, but these two... wow. Just, wow. It's not perfect, it's not ideal, but it's sure as hell fun to write for.**

**-This is noncanon. I don't know the time line of when Emile was integrated into Noble Team, but it isn't really integral (ha) for the story.**

** -So, tell me what you think. I'm curious.**

**-I used to be Anakya Superion. Obviously I've changed. **

**-This fic was originally thought up with a mental image of Emile and Kat fleeing Innies armed with old weapons, i.e. the hard sound rifles. I'm partial to those.  
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/3-1-51:23:24/

Codename: PHANTOMZONE

Recipient: XXXXX

/registering….  
/almost done…  
/file acquired.

Please remember that my Spartans are not toys, XXXXX. You cannot pick them up when they have fallen and expect them to wind themselves up again. They do not follow orders blindly, they do not rely on you for a reason to live; you are not their god. Do you forget from whose mind those soldiers spawned? I know what makes them tick, I know what they feel; I know them like a mother knows her children.

The fall of this planet is inevitable. You can tell the public that the UNSC is winning the war, but I want you to realize how many words are blacked out in this letter. You're counting now; don't deny it. We have reached a certain point in our slow descent to extinction that we have abandoned all hope of defending secrets from the public. While you keep me locked away (yes, nice try) you can't hope to keep me silenced. I know they are coming.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist (as they used to say) to figure it out.

As far as I am concerned, Spartan-B320 (despite being both psychologically and physically traumatized) is ready for combat. I request, however, that she be placed with Spartan-XXXXX in order to maintain the need to continue fighting. Though she will deny any pain (once again, psychologically and physically) you must be aware that she is indeed suffering. The loss of a fellow Spartan is comparable to the loss of a sibling; the loss of a limb is, though not as emotionally provoking, equally influential on the subject's ability to continue making logical decisions.

I will stop here, because I get the faint feeling that you will scan this document in search of my written validation instead of the ramblings of a bitter woman. Spartan-B320 is intelligent (I would go so far as to say the true genius of Noble) and logical; a pairing of characteristics I think we could all afford to exhibit in the coming days.

-/Charlie/Hotel….

/file sent.

* * *

_He looks like hell._

She intended this thought to be taken in the literal sense. The Spartan's EVA helmet was scratched and carved in the crude representation of a skull. His armor looked so mix-matched that Kat wondered, a hidden smile playing at her lips, if the enlarged shoulder pad, dusty grenade belt, and other haphazardly-placed devices had somehow accumulated there over time, like metal to a magnetized crane in a junkyard. As the barbaric Spartan leaped away from the Falcon, landing heavily, and made his way (swaggered?) toward her, Kat wondered what Noble had just gotten into.

Not that she hadn't foreseen this. She'd read his file (_especially_ the parts ONI didn't want her to read) and knew exactly what kind of headcase she'd invited into her team. Then again, it wouldn't take a genius to see that Emile-239 had his own way of taking care of business: a kukri knife was sheathed at his shoulder, and a shotgun was slung over his back; once again, she took note of the grenade belt.

He was fierce, unbreakable, and relatively responsible, even off the field.

Why had she ordered him to accompany her on this mission? Commander Holland's report did say that he was extremely vicious, even going as far as to say that he wished Emile would "reel his audacity in the field back 24%" which, of course, meant that the Spartan was the perfect example of a third-generation super soldier. This also meant that his control was limited, something she could hardly afford in this operation.

But long story short, she needed an unstoppable force to cover her ass.

"Welcome to our little paradise, Spartan," said Kat with a smirk that would go unseen behind her visor. "We're glad to have you."

Emile switched to radio as the two Falcons abandoned the LZ, picking up dust and debris as the birds took to the air. "And I'm glad to be here," replied the Spartan laconically, with trace amounts of sarcasm edging his voice. Kat's eyes narrowed fractionally at the tone. Removing her helmet in a show of comradery, she extended her bionic arm to gesture at the temporary base that had been set up ahead of time.

"Good to hear," she said flatly. "At twenty-three hundred, you are to rendezvous at the base to proceed with the mission. Don't forget."

Emile's refusal to lose the helmet sparked a bad mood in Kat. She replaced her helmet and left him behind her, walking straight for the temporary base. As she neared the camouflauged fabric tent, a brief click on the radio caught her attention. Turning to Emile, she nodded.

Kat didn't know why she expected an apology. The audacious Spartan had said six words since he'd arrived. The only thing she had a right to be ticked off about was his tone, which, for all she knew, was some speech impediment that forced him to be a constant jackass. So she quelled her flaring emotions and returned the click.

"Yes?"

She looked into the skull's sockets, meeting the hidden eyes.

"…Where do I get to sleep?"

Kat glowered. "In the creek. Now I need someone to set up the perimeter markers. Sensors, et cetera. I will be monitoring them from here for the next five hours, until we set out. When you've finished your rounds, meet me at the riverbed."

"Roger that, boss."

_I'm not your boss. Not for long._

* * *

"_Kilo-320, is this a secure channel?_

"

Kat glanced out the unclosed tent opening, at the rapidly falling darkness. Somewhere out there Emile lurked, his gruesome skull riktus shining in the moon's light. Shaking off the image, Kat turned back to the hologram spread across the wall of the tent. Across the spreadsheet there was the standard file image for Carter-259, the basic information about the mission, a brief summation of Emile's psych profile, and local stats and weather reports. Kat settled back on her haunches and spoke reassuringly.

"Of course, Commander."

"_Copy that, Kat._"

Code names were regulation for this kind of situation, until proven otherwise. While Carter repeated what Kat had read and memorized over four hours ago, the female Spartan scanned Emile's psych profile. She realized how S239 was the perfect poster-child for the Spartan-III community; not only that, she also realized what her commanding officers had intended for her to become.

But now was not the time to have an existential crisis.

"_Are we clear, Noble?_"

"Clear as always," replied Kat. "Heading out in zero hours, thirty minutes. Preparing to shut down all primary electronic systems. Going cold in exactly four minutes."

"_Good. Don't disappoint me, Kat._"

"Have I ever?"

As soon as Carter's signal disappeared into the cold, winter air of Reach, Kat quickly finished reading Emile's profile and shut down the system. She destroyed the hologram projector, stowed away the 'temporary base' in the shadows of the plentiful foliage, and switched on the night vision in her helmet. She changed all radio protocol manually, chinning the control and switching all communications to lights/clicks. For the remainder of the op, from now to dust-off, all communications would be either verbal or signaled.

When all was said and done, Kat stilled her thoughts and mentally switched gears. The sun finally slid behind the distant, jagged mountains. The stars finally dared to venture past the dark curtains of the night sky. The beasts of Reach rustled in their sleep, preparing to rise and hunt. _Much like those creatures_, Kat thought, as she loaded her dual, modified pistols and attached a silencer to each,_ I have realized it is time to hunt_. Her bionic prosthetic flashing in the moon's soft glow, Kat holstered her pistols and left the clearing, abandoning the light in favor of the dark.

She jogged quickly through the woods, silent as a deer and twice as fast. Bare patches of moonlight cobbled the path she ran. She skipped over the sensor cord that she herself had ordered to be set up, nimbly avoiding another one set up at neck height. Kat was just nearing the dried-up riverbed when a ghost moved across her motion tracker. Immediately she stopped.

Kat's breathing slowed to a near stop. She listened, her eyes swiftly scanning the thick woodland area. Her sharp stare found nothing, however. She narrowed her eyes in thought.

An inhuman bird whistled to her left, high note-low note.

Kat returned the whistle, low note-high note.

A red light on her HUD winked twice. Emerging from the thick brush ten feet in front of her, Emile tapped the side of his helmet twice – indicating for her to speak to him face to face. Kat pulled into the shadows before she removed her helmet. Once again, Emile did not return the gesture. But Kat's mind ignored it. She was concentrated on different things.

"We've got a problem," said Emile flatly.

"You've been debriefed?" she replied, subtly voicing her suspicions.

"Yes. But I'm thinking there is a bit more than just 'light scout activity'."

Kat followed Emile, who led her to a grassy hilltop overlooking a wide field. At first, Kat thought she was looking at an empty space. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to make out separate buildings. And every once in a while, she saw the flash of a handlight, and sometimes even the glare of the moon on rifle scopes. She cursed as she turned to Emile.

"It's just a town."

The curve of the Spartan's visor caught the light of the moon as he looked down at the civilian outpost. "Innies hiding behind the innocent. Cowardly pigs."

Kat could almost feel the sting of the spite in his voice. It hung in the cold air like the condensation of her breath, before fading into the stars. Looking back down on the town, she guessed there were twenty plus houses down there, linked with concrete walkways and wrought iron fences, put up against the harsh Reach environment. It was late, so none of the families were up and about. But they would be in a few hours. This was a farming outpost; she could spot the lines of crops just beyond the trees bordering the town.

Intel suggested that the local Insurrectionists had taken to the small town of Sofia and were trading illegal drugs and weapons, using the thick forests surrounding them to hide stockpiles and cargo. The people of the town didn't have the might to object to this kind of power, so they simply requested that the Innies provide protection for them against other Innies. The problem was that the Innies had somehow gotten hold of UNSC equipment. Stuff that had been dropped from regulation lists. Dangerous stuff that sold wonderfully on the black market.

Kat had been warned she would be going headfirst into enemy territory. She was warned that they could have deadly weapons. She had even looked at the list; there were some guns there she'd only heard about.

But she hadn't been told the Insurrectionist outpost was a civilian town. Otherwise, she would have never welcomed a man like Emile along with her. This would require care and precision. They needed to get in, detain their leader, and quietly remove themselves from the premises. As much respect as she had going for Emile (she smirked slightly) this would not be possible. She asked the assault specialist to allow her to go first. She would take out the snipers quietly, while Emile circled back and made sure the roads were clear.

The skull riktus nodded at her, then disappeared into the relative darkness.

* * *

"You fail," Kat said hoarsely.

A man in stealth combat body armor had snuck up behind her, ripped off her helmet, and attempted to slit her throat. She had been partially expecting this and had narrowly avoided a slow and bloody death by writhing out of his grip. He had, however, managed to wring her neck pretty bad, and knocked her out with his billy club. It had been a relatively silent affair. Not enough to wake the civilians.

It had been Emile's encounter with the enemy that would have woken the civvies. He had time enough to tell her there were no vehicles in the garages or on the roads. Kat was aware that he'd taken out the snipers on the rooftops. It was his interaction with a surprised scout that she had truly been able to validate his kills. She had heard a sharp cry of surprise, the thunderous boom of a shotgun, and a dull thud as something hit the ground. They'd been able to bring down him down the dirty way – sneaking up behind him and incapacitating him in numbers.

Vaguely, Kat recognized the fact that he had attempted to obey her orders. He had refused to attack any of the other Innies; the death of the scout was an accident, brought about by a twitchy trigger finger. This was a somewhat important fact, compared to the thousands of other accounts of his inability to restrain himself. Her respect for the soldier improved slightly. The fact he was wiggling about like some mad caterpillar lessened it somewhat. Her sense of respect was a sensitive organ.

"I heard you got bush-wacked, Lieutenant," he said at length. She didn't need to see his face to know there was one shit-eating grin plastered there.

"And you got dog-piled. Your point, _warrant officer_?"

Emile grumbled but became quiet. That distraction aside, Kat looked around her. Movement was somewhat limited; she and Emile were tied together, back to back, with some steel cords.

Crafty devils.

The room was drafty, the cool night air blowing through the narrow slit of a window numbing her face. A single lightbulb hung above their heads, swaying like an ancient tree in a fickle summer wind. The door to her left was closed and locked, presumably, but the slit that allowed for spying was open wide. Kat jostled the cords slightly, but they wouldn't budge enough to free her.

She couldn't spy her helmet. Without it, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Moving her shoulders to test the restraints, she bumped Emile's head with her own. She realized his helmet had been removed as well.

"I can't believe we got caught. Two highly trained Spartans. _Spartans!_ If they tamper with my helmet, I swear to the All Mighty…."

"Religious, Emile? I would have never guessed."

He chuckled darkly. "Figure of speech, Lieutenant. I doubt I mean it."

Before she had a turn to offer a witty reply, the door opened and something stepped through it. Kat couldn't quite register it as a human being until it stepped into the light. The man's hair was wildly out of control (for his own sake, Kat would call it a 'bed head') and he appeared to have donned his stolen flak armor in an awful hurry. He pulled a chair in with him, a sturdy, wooden one, and now he sat in it, a triumphant smile stretching his face in terrific angles.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

Emile was struggling to turn and look his enemy in the eye. Kat could feel his movements morphing from desperate to frantic to raging. She placed her palm on the small of his back, hoping he would feel her touch through the armor. He stilled; she assumed he had.

She would speak for both of them. This was the man they had come for. Richard Bentrafkas, the Insurrectionist leader of the district.

"Not going to say anything?" the man said, undaunted with Emile's frenzied movements. "That's okay. I have other methods of torture aside from making you listen to me."

Kat gave the man a quick look-over. He was average, neither heavily built nor slim, with dark hair, an unshaven jowl, and dark eyes. His teeth were clean and straight; his skin free of piercings and noticeable blemishes. His nails were clean and his hands appeared to be smooth and washed. He looked uncomfortable in the camoflauged fatigues, buckled chest and shoulder armor, and military regulation boots. Undoubtedly, this was the man they'd been sent in to find and detain. Ah well. Here he was.

He stared at her, his arms and legs crossed. He was examining her, deep in thought. "So. This is what the grand UNSC plans to send against E.T.? I must say, the cannon-fodder is getting better-looking."

Kat's eye twitched.

There are some things that Catherine-B320 had learned in Spartan training, in the company of a group of children who were mainly boys. She had learned how to: properly defend herself against a boy, how to play King of the Hill like a pro, and lastly, how to spit really far.

She'd been letting a small reserve of spit well up in her mouth, and when the man had finished his little smartass remark, she angled her chin up and spit directly in his face.

He didn't budge much. Instead he closed his eyes and allowed the slimy substance to drip over his eyelids and down his cheeks. He raised his eyebrows till they had nearly disappeared into his receding hairline. When a few moments had passed, he opened his eyes and nodded appreciatively. "Okay. I'll go get those tools."

He got up, wiping off the spit with the sleeve of his fatigues. The door shut silently behind him as he left. When his steps receded down the hall outside, Kat turned her head to Emile.

"He's alone here."

"Oh yeah?"

"No cars. Nothing but a minimal scout force. You counted what, three snipers?"

Emile was silent for a moment. "The rest of them are out and about," he surmised. "If we can contact the Commander in time, we can catch up to them while we take care of him."

Kat nodded, watching the door. "It's safe to bet that he's alone in this building. I'm willing to be the town is abandoned. A shell."

"Gotta strike hard-"

"-And make sure he doesn't have time to squeal."

The thud of boots on concrete returned, and both Spartans ceased talking. The man entered carrying a small satchel and a foldable table. He was cleaned up this time, his unruly hair pulled back in a pony tail, and his face looked blotchy, possibly from a cold water facial wash. Seeing Kat, he nodded respectfully, and proceeded to set up his torture tools.

Emile touched the small of her back. Somehow she felt his touch through her armor.

Her legs had been tucked up to her chest the whole time. Her ankles were bound, but she knew that would only make the strike hurt more. Just as the man turned around to face her, a forced smile on his face and a scalpel in his hand, she kicked out with both legs.

Her feet caught him in the kneecaps. The room echoed with the sharp crack as the patellae broke simultaneously. With a gasp of surprise, the man fell to the ground. As his face hit the concrete, he acknowledged the searing pain in his knees with a nameless sound of despair.

As one, Kat and Emile stood up, leaning against each other for balance. Kat was able to wiggle out of the steel cords. As Emile shuffled off the metal coils, she dealt with Richard, tossing him over her shoulder. He grunted in drunken surprise, but ignored him, crossing the interrogation room and opening the door.

She waited for the presence of Emile behind her before she proceeded down the hall. The building echoed with the silence of a tomb, chillingly derelict and empty. There was a door at the far end of the chamber that Kat would assume lead outside. She broke into a swift jog as escape loomed into view.

"We aren't going to interrogate him here?" Emile asked as they cleared the threshold and escaped from the compound. The sun was rising steadily and the glow of the moon was paling in comparison to its steady blaze. The stars and Csodaszarvas were already fading into the pastel blue sky as a beautiful day blossomed from the grim night.

"No. I would rather not be caught with their leader when the scouts return," Kat replied. She made her way to the civilian buildings, looking for one that would probably be used the most – she'd find her helmet there.

She deposited Richard outside the door of the first one she tried. Stepping through the threshold, she scanned the deep shadows for her helmet. She saw the glare of morning sunlight, which was spilling through the cracks in the poorly constructed house, flash against a visor. Kat picked up her helmet and slipped it over her head.

Emile's gruesome EVA helmet grinned up at her. Kat stared at it, tracing with her eyes the sharp scratches gouging deep into the glass. It was wildly against regulation, that was for sure, but something about the morbid yet defying nature of the carving inspired something in her.

She picked it up and felt the marks with her prosthetic hand.

Kat tossed Emile his helmet, noting for the first time he had been unmasked this whole time. Now his face was obscured in darkness. But soon enough, the skull mask replaced his features, and Kat had lost the opportunity to see under the mask.

The two Spartans left the house and went to stand in the center of the 'town'. The sun was rising swiftly, lengthening their shadows and reducing the time they had to reach the rendezvous point. Plus, Kat still wanted to interrogate the leader, if for no other reason than to get back at him for catching her unawares. But the mission didn't call for an interrogation – simply for detaining a criminal leader.

"Kat! _Get down!_"

She dropped like a rock in water, hitting the dirt with her palms, just as Emile wound up and tossed his knife. The kukri blade flashed through the air and caught an unarmored Insurrectionist in the chest with a wet thump. Kat watched the man crumble to the ground with a gasp that escaped with his dying breath.

"Well," she said with a grin thrown in Emile's direction. "Would have never marked you as the chivalristic type."

Emile seemed to think about his answer, reconsider it, and settle for an off-handed shrug. "I am who I am."

"Good answer," she replied sarcastically.

There was a smile in his voice. "I thought so."

They found their weapons in a shed, which was unlocked. However, they found no traces of the men that had assaulted them. By the time the sun had cleared the treeline, the two were already running through the forest, on their way back to the dust-off point.

The forest was a different place at dawn's break. Thick canopies lit up green in the light, dust motes swirled through patches of unadulterated sunshine, and the sweet songs of birds were everywhere. Richard grunted with every leap Kat took over an obstacle, but thankfully he wasn't whining yet. With his kneecaps smashed, successful interrogation would require, at most, a two year old with a bad attitude.

They reached the dust-off point in under twenty minutes.

* * *

The Falcon lurched off the ground, the VTOL propellers whipping up a proper dust cloud. The sun was beginning its decent to the west and the air was becoming stagnant as winter reminded them of her presence. Kat and Emile sat side by side as the bird cleared the treetops and angled east, toward the closest UNSC base in the quadrant.

Kat would log the mission as successful, and request that Spartan-239 be reassigned to Noble Team. She could already foresee dominance issues between the audacious Spartan and the Commander, as well as attitude problems between Emile and Jorge. But they needed a man like this on the team, so as to balance themselves out.

She looked past her boot, down at the forest below her. ODSTs had been deployed into the area. She had no doubt that they would take care of the problem, and looked forward to reading their mission logs.

The pilot said they would be reaching the base soon enough, and that they would be debriefed before they were allowed to wind down at Noble base. Emile didn't make a comment, but Kat knew he had realized that he'd been permanently assigned to the team.

Emile would balance out the team. Thom was their humanity, Carter was their leader, Jorge was their spirit, Jun was their humor, and Emile would become their courage.

For every power there was justification and righteousness. For every brute, there was his opposite – and natural – partner: intellect. Kat was loyal to Carter (and would be, till the end) but Emile was a different factor entirely.

This new Spartan touched the small of her back. Somehow she felt it through her armor.


End file.
